


In Between

by sareliz



Series: Looking Long Into The Abyss [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Do Not Mess With The Kraken, Gen, Jael Modesty Alice Graves Gets What She Wants, Let's all just stop and have some hugs, M/M, More Hugs, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Original Percival Graves Will Mastermind The Revolution, Original Percival Graves is BAMF, Queenie Goldstein is BAMF, The Revolution will Not be Televised, Wampus Cat Animagi Are My Personal Favorite Piece Of Headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareliz/pseuds/sareliz
Summary: In between the first chapter of 'What is Necessary' and the second, twenty years elapses.A lot can happen in such a large space, in between.A lot does.





	1. The Smell of Orphanage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linusmir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linusmir/gifts).



Graves had explained to Jael not long after Mr. Barebone was moved to the cottage why it might not be a good idea for the two men to spend too much time in the same room together. In very broad and general terms, Percival had painted a picture. Ma Barebone had been cruel in one way to him, and Grindelwald had been cruel in a different kind of way. 

It had been a good moment to introduce the difference between knowledge and emotions.

“But that’s not right. If Aunt Tina and Mr. Scamander have explained that the bad wizard stole your face, then it should be okay,” she argued as they both sat on the floor before the fire in the library, playing with Crab Apple and some soap bubbles.

“There’s a difference,” Percival pointed out patiently and quietly, “between knowing something logically in your head, and feeling the truth of it in your heart, and deep in your bones.” He wandlessly created some more soap bubbles and wafted them over to Jael and Crab Apple, taking a simple joy in this moment together, even with the present conversation. Jael took control of the soap bubbles with her will alone, as children will sometimes do. Crab Apple, for his part, did his best to hunt the bubbles.

“For instance, even though your brother knows, and believes, what your Aunt Tina said, when he sees my face for the first time, and maybe every time after that, when he hears my voice, all the rest of his body, and most importantly his heart, is going to be screaming at his head,  _ ‘Don’t trust that man! That man is a bad man who hurt you!’ _ ”

Jael frowned as she took this in. Her attention with the soap bubbles faltered long enough for Crab Apple to catch and pop them all, and then wonder where they had gone.

“But, Percival, you’re not a bad man, you’re a good man!”

Graves smiled grimly.

“And you know that in both your head and your heart, which is why it upsets you to imagine that someone you love and respect would think otherwise. Please don’t blame your brother for feeling the way he does. He was manipulated by someone who just didn’t care if he hurt other people.

“But this is the reason why it’s not such a good idea for me to be around when your brother is awake, which he will be more and more. I won’t stay away for ever. But for a little bit, just while he tries to sort out his mind and his heart.” 

Percival made more soap bubbles and wafted them over to his new daughter and her kitten.

“Huh. Does this count for the Swamp Cat, too?”

Percival blinked, trying to understand what she meant by that. Eventually he asked her.

“Well, he sure wouldn’t recognize you as a big ole Swamp Cat. And you’re so good and soft and wonderful and cuddly, and Mr. Scamander said it would help Credence to be around magical animals, but after that time that Crabby took fright and accidentally clawed him good, I don’t think he likes Crabby all that much. But you wouldn’t take fright. So that would be okay, wouldn’t it, Percival? I mean, just in order to make Credence heal faster?”

Percival felt himself caving as he usually did whenever Jael made a heartfelt plea.

* * *

The healers had been quite adamant that even while in a magically-induced sleep Mr. Barebone would be affected by the world around him. Accordingly, both the sound of familiar voices would be welcome, as well as the touch of magical items and animals - provided said animals didn’t claw him - would be very good for what might be quite a long process of starving the obscenely large obscurus that resided within Mr. Credence Barebone.

This afternoon found Jael sitting in a large squashy chair by her brother’s bed, reading the most depressing and violent poetry Percival had ever heard. In her high-pitched child’s voice, some of the verses were actually quite creepy, but Percival tuned it out as best he could.

Smells were much more interesting to him. Smells, and thoughts. But mostly at this point, it was the smells.

It was just as well that they four were the only ones here and that Mr. Barebone was not, at present, dreaming.

Ah, the joys of Dreamless Sleep.

Jael was in the chair.

Her  _ Frontier _ was on the side of Mr. Barebone closest to him, and his hand had been loosely wrapped around the handle of the racing broom.

Crab Apple was stretched out on Percival’s shoulder, snoozing peacefully after a vigorous morning spent happily disemboweling baby hedgehogs, according to Nips.

And Percival, all eight and a quarter feet of him, was stretched on the other side of the bed, his spine pressing up against the younger man’s arm. He couldn’t quite bring himself to purr, though. He’d done this a dozen or so times, now. It struck him that somehow it might be just a little bit better for the young man if he could manage to purr, but he couldn’t.

He smelled terrible, for one thing.

It wasn’t body odor. Percival quite enjoyed distinctive body odor, at least when he was shaped like a Wampus Cat. It was something else entirely, something having to do with the obscurus, apparently. He’d discussed it with Newt at length, and to some degree with Crab Apple, the only other individual around him who might be able to give an informed opinion, though of course the kneazle was still a baby.

And apparently, kneazles and Wampus Cats could smell the obscurus within an Obscurial, which was going to make his job, actually, so much easier. He’d already formed the nucleus of a plan and started on the first steps right away.

Because if kneazles could be trained to  _ spot  _ a child with even a vestigial obscurus, before that child becomes a full-blown Obscurial, senators could be both convinced and calmed in one fell swoop.

And Percival was convinced that this was the case.

Obscurii smelled rotten. There was no getting around it. At first Percival had thought it was the smell of  _ orphanage _ that bothered him in this form, with his heightened olfactory senses, but it wasn’t that at all, because the moment he’d shifted after Newt had first taken the obscurus out of her, Jael smelled fresh and clean, like a forest at night, after rain.

It took Percival being in Mr. Barebone’s company while shifted to realized that he smelled like  _ orphanage,  _ but so very much worse.

Not knowing how much time he would have - perhaps Mr. Barebone would not actually live much longer, or perhaps the extraction would take not nearly as long as Newt estimated - the Magical Security Department had snapped up all of the baby kneazles for sale in New York City, Chicago, Boston, Buffalo, St. Augustine, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Richmond, Charlotte, the Outer Banks, and Key Strange. There were sixty-eight total. When they had two hundred fifty, Graves would be satisfied.

Plans, rotations, training, all danced in his head and when Seraphina found out that it would take up, at first, an hour of his day, in the evenings at home, every day, she smiled her shark-like smile and forbade him from being in the office past 11 A.M.

Percival was knocked out of his thoughts as his shoulder was subject to the mild irritation of being wiggled, stretched, and now sat upon by 20 ounces of kitten. He bent over and looked at him sideways.

“Meeeeeeuw,” he pointed out in his tiny, baby voice. It seemed to perfectly convey,  _ I can’t stand the stench anymore. Is your nose dead? _

He huffed out his response, wanting to remain quiet. The daily dreadful poetry reading was going on, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Still, Percival managed to convey his determination to remain where he was.

“Meeeuw,” Crab Apple protested.  _ Come out and snooze in front of the fire with me. _

Percival tried to answer as quietly as he could. “Rrrowwrroowwrl,” he said.  _ No, little one. I do not leave because of the stench, I stay because of it. My presence will help him to heal, and smell better. If you would curl up on him instead of me, you could help him, too. You did it for Jael, once. _

“Mrrowr,” Crab Apple replied indignantly, not caring about his volume.  _ I love Jael. I don’t love this one. Also, she didn’t smell nearly this bad. _

“Rrowrrorrl,” Percival replied, patiently.  _ Sometimes we do uncomfortable things for those we don’t already love, just to help them live a happier, healthier, safer life. _

Crab Apple sniffed. His meaning was clear.  _ That sounds insane to me. _

“Rorrruwr,” Percival pointed out quietly.  _ It’s a value held in common by most thinking-feeling beings. Including kneazles.  _ Or so he dearly hoped.

“Merm,” Crab Apple pouted, delicately stepping off his shoulder and onto Mr. Barebone’s chest.  _ Fine.  _

Percival huffed in satisfaction.


	2. Waking Up Is Hard To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence wakes up.
> 
> And then Percival wakes up.
> 
> No, this fic does not go to 'dead dove: do not eat' places. This fic goes to 'well, shit that's a healthy response to life' places. Why? Because we already have plenty of the former. I want more of the latter.

Sleep was impossible with the stench of the obscurus, but Percival had been in something of a meditative state. Crab Apple, who after the first time could spend up to fifteen minutes a day grumpily lounging on Mr. Barebone’s chest before the smell overwhelmed the kitten, had already taken himself off to the main room of the cottage and was lounging before the fire, or perhaps begging bits of fish from one of the new house elves.

Jael had happily begun to expand her reading repertoire past dreary ancient poetry and was now reading a fairy tale.

And this was the moment that Mr. Barebone chose to wake up.

As he was currently snuggled up to Percival’s tawny hide, the most dangerous houseguest he’d ever had did this action with no small amount of alarm.

For some reason, Mr. Barebone took exception to waking up with a two hundred pound six-legged mountain lion.

_ “Yeeeeeeaagh!” _

Jael would later report that Percival sprang straight up, turned in mid-air, kicked off the wall, somersaulted, and landed in a defensive crouch in front of her.

“It’s okay, Credence! It’s okay! Percival, I can’t see. Percival.  _ Percival.” _

And then he felt little arms circle around his shoulders as she climbed on his back. He huffed as he took her full weight. He sat down, which made it better, but she held on firmly.

“Credence, it’s okay. Percival was next to you because it helps you to get better faster.”

“Wh-wh-what’s going on? Where am I?” he asked, eyes fully lucid for the first time in two months. Newt hadn’t thought it would be safe until recently. The estimated amount of obscurus removed from him already was roughly eight cubic feet.

“You’re home. Well, one of our homes. The safest one, really, just in case there’s an accident,” Jael said, brightly.

“Wh-wh-what’s that thing?” he stammered out as he stared at Percival, having half pushed himself away on the bed, but stopped in the middle of the gesture.

“Well, this is Percival, of course,” she replied, arms still firmly around his shoulders. Graves debated the merits of shifting back into his human shape as Jael chattered on, happily oblivious to the tension in the room. “He adopted me. He said he can’t adopt you because you’re too old, but that you could always have a home with us. You’ve never really met, but you think you have, but you really haven’t. It was really a bad wizard who stole his face and then tried to trick you, and was mean to you. So you shouldn’t get mad at Percival. But that’s probably why he hasn’t changed back yet. That’s why he’s still a Swamp Cat. But Mr. Scamander has been taking the black guck out of you, just like he took out of me, except you have lots more in you than I did. Aunt Tina says it’s because you’re so much older.”

Holding the covers tightly about him almost as a shield, the poor young man looked from child to cat and back again.

“What?”

There was nothing for it. It had to happen eventually.

He shifted, reaching around his left arm to steady his daughter on his back as she continued to cling to him while his right arm unobtrusively pulled his wand and kept it by his side.

Mr. Barebone gasped.

“Percival Graves,” he said in introduction of himself. “We’ve never met. Please consider our home your home.” He crouched down and patted Jael’s hands. “Down you get,” he murmured back to her, turning his head slightly but not breaking eye contact with the man who contained arguably more immanent danger than Grindelwald.

“You have, I am sure, much to discuss with your sister. I’ll leave you to it. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, young man,” he said, lying at the last before turning on his heel and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

A part of him screamed that he had just left Jael in danger, but it wasn’t his intuition. It was the irrational part that wanted him to be quaking and afraid, unable make any sound judgments. He ignored it.

It was easier to ignore than the thoughts and emotions he had seen in the young man’s mind.

Adoration.

Lust.

Craving.

Yearning.

Deification.

Desperation.

And something deeply, deeply broken.

The worst part was, he felt an answering echo of some of it in himself.

* * *

He was horrified.

Graves had only just stumbled out - no, he walked calmly and with authority, it just felt like he was emotionally stumbling out - of the bedroom where Mr. Credence Barebone lay, awake and reeling, when he almost literally ran into Goldstein the Younger.

And his thoughts were full of the beautiful broken young man on the other side of the door to whom he’d really like to do lovely and sensuous things…

And his thoughts were also filled with horror and shame for wanting to take advantage of that beautiful broken young man.

His heart fell into his stomach and his guts twisted and churned with the knowledge that now Queenie knew that, too.

Her face was soft and kind. “I don’t judge, Percival,” she said on a quiet whisper as Newt walked around her and into the bedroom, closing the door silently behind him. She continued. “We’re all broken somehow. The important thing is noticing, and fixing it, maybe, if ya can. You’re already ahead of most people. They don’t even see how they’re broken.”

Graves closed his eyes. It was the only way he was going to be able to bear this conversation.

“How can you possibly respect me after this?” he asked the legilimens, the shame creeping into his voice.

“I respect you more for this, because I know you’re going to use this insight to get healthier. We’re attracted who we’re attracted to. We fall in love with who we do. It’s not convenient. But it can be an opportunity to see inside your own soul. And if you don’t like what ya see, well, at least you know where you’re startin’ from. Doesn’t have ta be the same place ya end up.”

With more bitterness than he’d intended, Graves whispered out his question. His voice was harsh. “And what did you see inside your soul when you fell in love with a no-maj?” He was looking at her now, his gaze hard and cruel, as if he could punish her for knowing something about him he wished he himself did not know.

Queenie only smiled a sad smile. “I learned that magic doesn’t define who ya are. There are plenty of evil bastards,” this she pronounced ‘bas-tahds’, “who have magic, and plenty of good, wholesome folk who don’t. And that mostly people are in between. They’re cruel in their heads. They censor what they speak. And if they said half ‘a what they thought, no one would ever speak to them again.”

There was a fire in Queenie’s eyes that Percival had never yet seen. It matched his own.

“I learned that people mostly don’t realize even what they’re thinkin’. That I got more insight into who they are than they do themselves. I learned that it’s only when people do get quiet and take a look inside their own heads and are completely disgusted by what they see, only  _ then _ does our society have a snowball’s chance in  _ hell  _ of becoming a better place. Because it can’t get better out  _ there  _ until it gets better  _ in here. _

“That’s what I learned by falling in love with a no-maj. What have you learned by falling in love with an Obscurial?”

Percival closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and sighed. God, it sounded so  _ bad  _ outloud. He’d at the very least fallen in lust with an Obscurial, and that was perhaps even worse.

“Not to bait my assistant,” he began, answering her question after his brief mental foray into semantics. 

Queenie barked out a quiet bit of laughter, the fire now gone from both of them. “That’s a good beginning,” she admitted.

“That I am perhaps in more need of healing than I first realized,” he continued quietly.

“Not wrong,” Queenie confirmed.

“That I have no room to judge for falling in love with exactly the wrong person, and at the most inconvenient time.”

“No siree,” Queenie confirmed, again.

Graves rubbed both of his hands over his face. “He could die soon,” he pointed out, his tone almost hopeful.

“Not with your luck,” Queenie pointed out gamely.

“What do you know about my luck,” Graves groused.

“Everything you know about your luck, plus a little bit more. And you been havin’ a dry spell, luck-wise, lately.”

Graves sighed.

“Nah. With your luck, you’ll procrastinate on your healing, it’ll take years longah than it needs ta, and just about the time you’re ready ta proposition young master Barebone, he brings his fiancee home for dinnah. And that fiancee is gonna look like a shabby copy a’ you. Which will, trust me when I say this, twist the knife like nobody’s business.”

Percival sighed again, his head sagging backwards as he stood in the living room. His eyes stared past the log cabin’s ceiling, seeing nothing but his own angst. “Why does that feel like a prophecy?”

“‘Cause that’s how your life’s been goin’ up ta now. You can let it keep goin’ that way, or you can  _ change  _ it. I’d recommend the lattah, but nobody takes my advice.”

“‘Unsolicited advice breaks friendships,’” Percival quoted.

“Yeah, well, we’re not friends. You employ me for my keen insight. I’m providing it. You’re welcome, in advance.”

Now it was Percival’s turn to laugh quietly.

“Thank you, Queenie,” he said, his voice just as quiet as his laugh.

She just smiled. She’d already told him he was welcome, after all.


	3. Ice Cream and Audits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jael asks the question we all knew she'd be asking at _some_ point, Percival's answer surprises even himself.

It had just finished raining, the day that Jael declared her desire to learn how to turn into a ‘Swamp’ Cat, too.

“It’s not so simple. You don’t get to choose what animal you turn into,” Percival explained as they walked through the wizarding quarter, ostensibly to get her favorite chocolate peanut butter and banana ice cream. Still, Graves was sure a trip to the bookstore would some how be in order before they ultimately left. It usually was.

Jael cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her eyebrows. “So how does it work?”

“There’s some ritual involved - it’s not complex, but it must be exact, and no cheating. There’s slight but regular meditation involved, which come to think of it, you are probably capable of. And then you have to wait for a thunderstorm, at which point you patiently do some more specific meditation.”

“I could do that,” Jael pointed out.

“But I haven’t told you the hardest part.”

“Okay. Tell me,” his eight year-old said, sounding twice her age, somehow.

They got in line for the outside service window of the ice cream shop.

“The hardest part is that for every meditation, and most especially the final one, you can’t have an idea of what _you_ want to turn into in your mind. The animal chooses you. You have to allow that without resisting in any way. And that’s why so many people can’t become animagi. You have to give up your attempts to control, and you have to allow yourself to be chosen by the animal that is truly right for you.”

Jael’s brows furrowed. “So, how do I get the Spirit of the Swamp Cat to realize it needs to choose me?”

Percival opened his mouth to reply that it couldn’t be done, but what came out was something else entirely. “I don’t know. No one has ever reported being able to do it. And the ones who try to force it during the meditation simply fail, and all of their subsequent attempts fail. Now, whether they fail the second and third time _because_ they failed the first, or because they haven’t changed their attitudes is unknown. Shall we get a few books about it?”

Jael nodded, but her gaze was off in the middle distance. After a few minutes in line, Percival gave into the urge to hold her. All too soon she would be too big for it anyway.

“Come on up here,” he invited, tapping her shoulder. She smiled and lifted her arms and soon enough her arms and legs were wrapped around him.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered gently to her.

“Do you think God would get mad at me if I prayed to the Spirit of the Swamp Cat, just to let him know that I’d make a really good Swamp Cat, too, and that I was going to try to become an animagus soon? And that he should keep a look-out for me?”

Entirely out of his depths, Graves punted. “I think that would probably be fine.”

“You don’t think it would be selfish?” she asked, wincing a little bit.

He squeezed her tight for just a moment. “There’s nothing selfish about having preferences. We don’t always get what we want, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have preferences, set goals, and do everything we can to try and achieve them.”

Jael digested this in silence as their distance from the head of the line grew shorter. “Is that what you do, Percival?”

He nodded. “Most of the time.”

“What do you do the rest of the time?” she asked.

“I wing it,” he pointed out in utter truth, with a grin.

She cracked up into a fit of giggles, which is how they were when they got to the head of the line, just moments later.

“You guys are always so happy,” commented the young lady at the counter. “You want the usual?”

Percival looked to his daughter to discover her answer.

“Yes, please!”

Percival also nodded. And so very shortly later he paid for two small ice cream cones, one with a heap of chocolate - simple, elegant, no frills - and one with a heap of chocolate peanut butter banana, with flashing sprinkles and two maraschino cherries on top.

Jael was rarely simple in her tastes, and the more sparkles, the better, Percival had discovered.

They walked down the quarter - Jael under her own power, so Percival could have his right hand free, and his cone in his left hand - in relative silence as they ate their ice cream. A busker was playing the violin and they stopped for a while to listen. Percival watched as Jael stood, spellbound through three songs, and then mechanically watched as people dropped coins in his violin case.

After the third song, she looked up and tugged on his coat a bit. Percival squatted down to her level. She leaned in and whispered, “Can we pay him, too?”

“Of course,” he responded, wondering when the last time he’d given a street musician so much as a dime. Maybe never.

Percival fished out two dollar bills from his pocket and handed them over to her.

Jael placed them gently in the open case and smiled shyly at the musician. They stayed for another two songs, at which point the ice cream cones were gone.

In the bookshop, Graves found the few books on animagi in the transfiguration section. There were several promising books on helpful meditation techniques, one strict book of directions which he was certain he already owned, and two other interesting books they decided to buy - one on everything that can go wrong, with case studies, and one on theories of why people get the animagus form that they do. They also looked for a book on Wampus Cats, but there were none to be found that weren’t entirely focused on the Ilvermorny House.

Jael contented herself with the realization that she could grill Mr. Scamander about it at dinner that night.

Percival also thought there might be a book in their own library to help her, but he wasn’t sure, and wanted to check before he said anything.

Later that day, after Jael had complained very loudly that it was entirely unfair that he could read so much faster than she could -

“Just keep practicing, and you’ll be able to read as fast as me.”

\- Percival looked for that book, and found it. _Running With Your Spirit Animal_ , by Cheryl Starlight. He added that to his stack and pointed it out to Jael when she had surfaced for the milk and cookies that Nips had brought in at three.

In between cookies, Jael had a thoughtful look on her face. Eventually she asked her question.

“Percival, you think it would be okay if I read to Credence from one of my new books? Or would that be selfish? Should I maybe go back to the Psalms?”

Oh, _anything_ but the dreadful poetry.

“I think it would be fine. What’s the new preoccupation with being selfish, hm?”

In the last three months, Jael had been many things, but selfish certainly wasn’t one of them. But she had gotten it from somewhere, and her contact with the world was, as yet, rather limited.

“I just heard it,” Jael prevaricated, and not particularly well.

“You’re not in trouble, Jael,” he quickly assured her. “And you’re not selfish, either. I just want to know who’s talking about being selfish.”

“Um, I think I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear,” she replied nervously.

“Okay, who was talking?” Percival asked gently.

“Aunt Tina and Mr. Scamander.”

“Did they sound angry?” he asked, wondering if they had been fighting, perhaps.

“No,” she quickly assured him. “They sounded sad.”

Percival sighed in relief. “Well. You probably did overhear something you weren’t meant to. Even when two people love each other, they don’t always get everything right. Sometimes they argue. Sometimes they accidentally make each other sad. This happens between friends, lovers, and children and their parents.”

Jael’s eyes looked huge to him in that moment. Her words tore at his heart. “But you always get everything right, Percival.”

He huffed out a bit of ironic laughter. “I don’t,” he assured her. “I really don’t. But I do try very hard, and that’s the best that anyone can ever do. Try their best, and learn from the mistakes they do make, so they don’t make them again.”

“You haven’t made any mistakes with me,” Jael pointed out, as if Percival remaining an icon of perfection was a life or death issue for her.

“Well, I have been trying exceedingly hard not to make any mistakes with you. And besides,” he said by way of perking up the conversation, “didn’t Ma Barebone make enough for the both of us?” He grinned a little to see if he could cajole her into a better mood.

Jael sighed in disgust. “Ugh. You got that right.” Jael pulled a face, as if she had tasted something truly awful. “Blech.”

Percival thought that was a fair summary of the anti-maj squib.

“So, what interesting things have you noticed from your reading?” he asked, knowing that she would want to discuss the stack books they were making their way through.

* * *

“So. Should I ask why Jael is on a picnic blanket in the meadow, meditating about… a wampus cat?” Queenie asked, holding a cup of steaming coffee between her hands as they stood on the porch of the cabin in the brisk March air.

Percival grinned, doing his best to keep his mind blank. His increased occlumency meditations helped with that.

“You mean you can’t guess?” He didn’t even try to keep the grin from getting larger.

“She not gonna try to _become_ one, is she?”

Graves just raised an eyebrow and continued to grin. He crossed his arms as he leaned against the roof support.

“Ya can’t choose your animagus animal by sheer force of will,” Queenie pointed out dubiously.

“Not during the animagus meditations themselves, but nobody’s tried summoning the animal to them beforehand.” Percival shrugged. The grin wasn’t leaving his face, and Percival felt pretty good about that. His daughter often made him want to grin.

“But she’ll be so disappointed when it doesn’t work!” Queenie said quietly but intensely.

“Whether she fails or succeeds - and we don’t know if success is impossible, we only know it hasn’t yet been done - it will be a wonderful learning experience for her.”

“You are spoilin’ that child.”

Graves shrugged again. “She’s bright, inquisitive, and usually quite happy. Really, I think she’s spoiling me.”

Queenie’s smile was a sudden thing.

“You guys go to get the license yet? Do they issue animagus licenses to eight year-olds?”

“Mmm,” he responded. “But I checked the statutes. There’s no law against it. There seems to be an implied reference to being of wand-bearing age, but there is no actual legal prohibition to applying and receiving a license even if you are temporarily without a wand. Which she is, and will be, for the next two and a half years. Which is really quite temporary.”

Queenie snorted. “You sure you’re not bending that law, Percival Graves?”

His grin was slightly sharkish. “Just because the lawmakers didn’t _imagine_ that an eight year-old _could_ become an animagus, doesn’t mean that their failure of imagination should limit my quite bright and talented eight year-old from _becoming_ an animagus.

“So when you gonna to get her permit?”

“Well, since I’m only allowed at MACUSA headquarters between the hours of eight and eleven, I’d say you need to work that appointment into my schedule. Preferably first thing.”

Queenie grinned. “I’ll let you know what day.”

“Thank you, Queenie.”

* * *

“Director Graves, I’m surprised to - to - see… you…” the head of the Animagus License Office stammered off into silent confusion, eyes darting back and forth between the crisp and professional Director Graves, and the little girl at his side, _holding his hand._

“Sir, I’m confused about the appointment your secretary made. I pulled your file, but of course everything is in order, that is, that I could see, of course, your file is actually sealed, as you know, but I don’t know why--”

“The appointment is on behalf of my daughter. We’re here to get her permit, Mr. Rafe.” Percival waited for his response, his face closed and eyes penetrating. Not that he needed legilimency in this particular moment.

“You… don’t… think… she’s….”

When nothing else was forthcoming, Graves asked his question slowly.

“ _What don’t I think?”_

And then he waited for Mr. Rafe to dare to inform him of what he was thinking.

“A little young?” Mr. Rafe squeaked out.

“I, as her father, and an experienced animagus, believe she is perfectly capable and grant my permission, and if she passes the test, you are bound by law to grant her a permit.”

“But she has no wand…”

“Nor are you allowed to discriminate against witches or wizards who are, for reasons of their own, without a wand.”

“Sir,” he began in a placating tone. “This is very irregular.”

Graves eyes narrowed.

“So are audits,” he said in a suddenly friendly fashion, his false smile going well past his eyes. “But they, too, happen. Shall we see how many irregularities you’ve faced lately?” His voice dripped with sympathy. Mr. Rafe swallowed the rest of his protests and arranged for the test.

Twenty minutes later, Jael was back with him, her test graded and in her hand. The answers that she got wrong included difficult wording in the questions that confused her, but she still got enough right to get a passing grade. In two more minutes she took the oath, using Percival’s own wand. It was the standard wording with all the familiar clauses - never tried it before, have no intention of using it to bring harm or break laws. And then he received his wand back, and as the guardian of a minor with a permit, himself also took all of those promises on her behalf.

And then Jael had a half-sheet of paper declaring that she had five years from the present date of March 12, 1927 to prepare and attempt the animagus transformation, and was to report to the License Office within ten days of achieving it successfully to have her transformation witnessed, documented, and to have her License conveyed. If after five years, additional time was required, the permit could be renewed by mail.

“Don’t spend the whole morning meditating,” Percival said with a smile when he dropped Jael off at home.

Just before he walked out the back door towards the apparition point, he overheard his daughter ask, “Nips? What’s an audit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be said that I make chocolate peanut butter and banana ice cream for my husband (without dairy, or refined sugar, because that's how he rolls), and if I could turn into an animagus, even with prior spirit animal meditation, I still wouldn't be able to turn into a wampus cat. ::sigh:: So it goes. It doesn't fit all of us, but it certainly fits Percival Lancelot Archimedes Graves. ...The question is, does it fit J.M.A.Graves?
> 
> So, what spirit animal would come to you, if you sat in meditation and called to it? (Mine, in case you were wondering all end up either startling, or useless on land. Or both.)


	4. Twenty-Six Years And Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival and Seraphina have an interesting discussion, and then we see Jael's birthday dinner.

When the end of his six months was looming large before him, Percival discovered a change to the agenda of his meeting with Madam President.

“I've been looking back over your years of service. In twenty-six years you've had exactly three weeks of sick days that you haven't immediately balanced with overtime. And you've taken, apparently, none of your vacation, which doesn't normally accrue for twenty-six years, but I'm about to make an exceprtion. That’s seventy-two weeks of vacation, Val, not to mention the paternity leave you're also due.”

Graves narrowed his eyes. “Are you…” his head tilted slightly as he peered into her eyes and her mind at the same time. Inside he found Sera as she once was, young and laughing. Her inner child scolded him and told him not to peek. She said it in a sing-song voice.

He didn't finish his question. She obviously wasn't firing him.

“I've noticed that your work product hasn't diminished in the slightest in these last months. I can only imagine that you've found new ways to do more with less. I commend you. And I require that you take all of your accrued vacation in the next three years."

Graves blinked.

“Feel free to continue in the half days. It seems to do you good.”

The look askance he gave her spoke the volumes he was too gobsmacked to say.

“She'll grow up quickly. They do, I've heard. You'll thank me when she's twenty.”

_This is about Jael?_

Graves was aware that he was wearing his bemusement on his face, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to feel. “If this is about my daughter,” he said slowly and formally, “then I would like to cordially invite you, Madam President, to butt out of my private life.”

Sera smiled her shark smile.

“Director, this decision has no bearing on my own personal preference for you to continue on, a fine example to our nation, by-the-by, as the successful adoptive father of a healed obscurial, though believe me, I have considered deeply all three hundred and twelve pages of Mr. Scamander’s report.” She batted her eyelashes at him, just the one time, still smiling like a shark.

Graves could not help but give her a look, knowing she did no such thing. Sera liked summaries. She liked summaries a lot, and didn’t have time to read the novel that Newt had put together containing everything he knew or surmised about obscurials and obscurii.

“This, Director Graves, has everything to do with your work. I have reason to believe that you are a veritable dervish of productivity when you only have four hours in the office, and take the rest of the time to train, meditate, and engage in restful and rejuvenating activities with your daughter. In fact, that is my official opinion, and it is now a matter of record. It is my belief, Percival Graves, that Grindelwald was able to get the best of you because you were overworked and under-rested.”

Graves was just barely able to keep his jaw from dropping. That was not exactly the conclusion he had been coming to, and it shocked him that Seraphina would put her opinion on record before even checking in with him. And to be perfectly plain, her sweeping generalization and shocking simplification of what was very clearly a complex situation with many factors angered and insulted him.

“Since your return,” she continued, undaunted by any of several looks that he had been wearing in quick succession, “you have maintained your previous workload as well as spearheaded two new programs, both of which are deliciously ambitious, frightfully intelligent _and_ proactive. And, you’ve solved as many problems as you’ve created, and I do appreciate that. It makes getting the lawmakers to dance to my tune such an easier process.”

Graves blinked at the sudden succession of compliments. They were difficult to take, as angry as he was, but they threw him off his footing.

Which Graves could acknowledge, even now, it was a maneuver that Sera was particularly good at.

As imperceptibly as possible, Graves took a deep breath. In a calm and even voice he spoke as emotionlessly as he could.

“Thank you for your compliments.

“I accept the new terms of my employment for the next three years, and look forward to receiving a letter of agreement concerning it.

“I believe we’re done now, Madam President.

“Good luck at the summit this weekend.”

It was as if he was tonelessly reading a grocery list.

Sera smirked and stood when he did, coming around her desk to walk him to the door. It was a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by him, regardless of how angry he still was. “I’m not getting invited to dinner any time soon, am I?” she asked, her tone easy and familiar.

Still walking toward the door of her large office, he responded calmly. “Without checking my schedule, I couldn’t possibly comment.”

And then the meeting ended. Finally.

* * *

It took Percival five months to realize that in some respects, Jael had more patience than he did. During the five months in question, Jael meditated with her spirit animal, or possibly with the spirit of the Wampus Cat, or possibly she just sat looking at trees for an hour every morning and every afternoon.

Meanwhile, there were thunderstorms at least weekly.

When his therapist finally pointed out that given Jael’s patience in the first part of this process, she might also have an equal amount of patience in the second part of the process, that was when Percival realized that he had mostly not let go of _any_ disappointment or annoyance _at all_ in all of his forty-five years so far.

For instance, he was still annoyed at how long he had to wait in his animagus process, compared to his childhood friend who also underwent the same thing at the same time.

Percival had become an animagus at sixteen, twenty-nine years ago. And he still wasn’t over the angst of the process, and really, that was only one of the _minor_ incidents of his life that he hadn’t let go of yet.

And yet again, Percival recognized that he had a lot of healing to do.

For months, Percival Graves had asked only the most basic of questions of Jael - how were the meditations going, did she think she was ready yet - and the answers were always the same. “Pretty good. Not yet.”

It was such a private thing, but the curiosity was eating him.

One day at dinner he asked her more about it. It was one of the weeks that Newt Scamander was staying at Graves Manse with them - he was only around once every six weeks now, to oversee Mr. Barebone’s healing, and to help train the members of the Obscurus Remediation Units - and Percival reckoned that if there was anything further she wanted to say about meditating with the spirit of the wampus cat, Scamander would be quite interested as well.

“Jael, is there anything specific you want to share about your meditations?” he asked during the soup course.

She thoughtfully considered his question and waited until her mouth was empty.

“It’s hard, you know. Because I’m never sure what I hear - is it my inside voice, or the seeing one? The book is very clear that you can have interference, and maybe just hear what you want to hear, you know?”

Percival nodded, and considered what she’d said.

“Who or what is the seeing one?” Scamander asked.

“That’s the cat. I think. They don’t call themselves swamp cats, or wampus cats, or just cats. I’m not sure they know what a cat is. It’s a little muddled. But they call themselves the ones who see.”

“That’s fascinating,” Newt admitted in between bites of New England clam chowder.

“I agree,” Percival added. “What does the seeing one seem to tell you?”

“Well, sometimes I think it says mean things, but the book says that’s never true - it’s always your own inner voice trying to butt in and make you sad.”

“Okay,” Percival said, slowly, wondering if he had left his now nine year-old a little too much on her own.

“But aside from that?” she asked rhetorically, eating more of her chowder as all three men and both sisters nodded. Queenie was the only one smiling, however.

“Well, it took a long time for it to come to me. Lots of other animals came first.” A bite. Some chewing. Utter silence at the table.

“And then it did come, but it was a little grumpy, I think. Maybe. Hard to tell.” Another bite. Some more chewing. Utter silence at the table.

“After a while I think I got it to understand how much I loved it. It still hasn’t agreed to be the first one to come to me during the animagus meditations, though. And I don’t want to start until it agrees.”

Percival nodded slowly, his eyes blown wide.

“That’s fascinating, Jael,” Newt said gently. “I’d love to talk more about this later if you don’t mind, ask you a few questions and take some notes.”

Jael nodded.

“To heck with later,” Tina pointed out. “So, what other animals came to you first?”

“Mmm, lots of different birds. And a couple of fish. And then a dragon.”

A spoon clattered into a dish. It was Jacob’s, but really, it might have been anyone’s.

“But eventually the seeing one came. And that’s when I stopped calling. And I just focus on the seeing one, now.”

“Honey,” Queenie said, squinting as if she was trying to see something far away. “Could you just think of those other animals again for a second? Start with the birds. Okay, I know that one. Yeah, I think I know that one. No I have no idea what the third one is. Is that it for the birds? Okay, sweetie. Now the fish. Holy mackerel. Um, do you have a sense of how big that first one was, like, the size of your hand, or the size of this house? Okay. Now the second one? Again, size? Okay. Is that it for the fish, sweetie? Okay. Now… yeah, okay. And then the Wampus Cat?”

Queenie took a deep breath and sighed audibly. When she took the first bite of soup, having said nothing else, Percival watched as Tina bristled. When she took the second, he decided to intervene.

“What did you see, Queenie?” he said in an easy-going voice that utterly belied his interest in the matter.

Queenie turned her face full towards him and gave him the look he knew to be her silent invitation to him to enter her mind with permission.

And then he saw _her_ thoughts, recollecting what she’d seen in his daughter’s head.

A Thunderbird was the first animal to approach his daughter.

A Phoenix was the second.

The third looked just as fantastic to him, though he didn’t know it by sight alone.

And a feeling of dread filled him for one exceedingly brief moment as he considered the possible implications of his daughter communing with _any_ of these spirit animals.

And then… an octopus? Or… was it a mansion-sized _Kraken?_ Yes, yes it was.

And a whale, of some sort?

And then… a Chinese Fireball. Definitely a Chinese Fireball.

And then Queenie addressed him in her head.

 _“I’m not sure how you want to deal with this information, but… you know it’s you, right? It’s not that she loves Wampus Cats so exclusively. It’s that she loves_ **_you_ ** _with all her heart. And she wants to be just like you.”_

 _I know,_ Graves considered. After a moment he smiled pleasantly and addressed Scamander.

“Newt. Won’t you tell us everything you know about the Thunderbird? I believe you released one over the city last year?”

At least Jael was going to know she had some choices, even if she did end up choosing the damn cat after all.

* * *

The rest of dinner had been informative, if nothing else.

Scamander had occasionally got up from the table and mimed with gestures and waving of hands the movements and feel of several different animals. And he’d managed to identify the third bird as a Quetzalcoatl, of Mexican origin.

By the time the desert was ready to be presented, there was a lively discussion over which of the seven animals each adult would choose, if they had a choice. Percival didn’t mention which he would have chosen, as he would be discussing this at length with Jael later in private, but he was amused, nonetheless.

When Nips appeared at his elbow, he wasn’t surprised at all. Percival leaned down to hear what the elf had to say.

Quietly, with his hands politely behind his back, Nips inquired whether the Master was ready for the presentation or not.

Graves nodded slightly. “Yes. Give me just a moment to introduce it, and why don’t you invite the others to come out. I’m sure Jael will want to thank them, too.”

Nips smiled boldly and disappeared.

The adults all quieted, having seen the conversation between the head of the house and his first elf.

“Jael, do you know today’s date?”

A thoughtful look passed across her face, and she screwed her face up in concentration. Eventually she shook her head in the negative.

“It’s the fourth of August, in the year nineteen hundred twenty-seven. Do you know the significance of that date?”

Jael silently shook her head.

“Today is the ninth anniversary of your birth.”

“Oooh, you’re a Leo,” Queenie quietly cooed.

Jael looked back and forth between Percival and Queenie, blinking.

“Oh,” she said, and Percival couldn’t guess her mind.

“We got you presents,” Tina added. “You know, to celebrate your birthday.”

“I’m givin’ ya cookin’ lessons,” Queenie said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Jael said, wide eyed.

And then in turn, they each presented her with their gifts. Jacob made her a cake. Newt gave her a leather-bound journal to record her interactions with the animals. Tina promised her potions lessons, and help with her animagus potion when the time came, which was just as well as potions were Percival’s weakest area.

By this time the elves had returned and Percival smiled at them and held up a hand.

“And the elves made you a special ice cream treat to celebrate.”

Percival nodded and the two-tiered cake appeared in front of Jael, covered in sparkly, blinking swirls of blue, gold, and scarlet. Percival privately thought it was just slightly garish, but Jael was utterly overcome with joy. For a moment she didn’t even see the little sculpture sitting on her plate, made of chocolate peanut butter ice cream, sitting in a pool of fudge.

It was a Wampus Cat.

Then she did, and she squeaked.

There was a litany of oh-my-gosh, and many gushing and quite sincere thank yous. The elves cut the cake and served it out, and Jael made her way around the table giving everyone a hug. When she made her way to him, he pushed his chair back from the table and made room for her to climb into his lap. His hug was the longest, and she whispered in his ear, “Thank you, Percival. I love you.”

He held her there for a moment with his eyes closed, wondering what his life would have been like without her, but only briefly. It wasn’t worth considering.

He loosened his hold a bit and looked at her. “I haven’t even given you my present, yet.”

“I get more?” she said, eyes wide, and amazed.

“A little bit,” he conceded. “Two things that my mother would have given her daughter, if she’d had one. I know if she were still alive, she would want you to have them now.”

He pulled out a leather-bound book. It was entitled _Witching Ways: Everything a girl needs to know about being a woman_. Jael ooo-ed and was on the verge of being utterly distracted by the contents when Percival pulled out a second item, hidden in a soft cloth pouch.

Jael placed the book in her lap and took the tiny bag. She gave Percival a look, as if to ask what it was.

Percival responded equally non-verbally, silently challenging her to open her present and see.

Her little fingers wrenched at the drawstring and dug inside to find the signet ring.

There was more ooo-ing as he took it from her and placed it on the middle finger of her right hand. It was far too big, and she pointed that out.

“Ooh, I can resize that for ya,” Queenie said.

Before she hopped off his lap, she clutched the book in one hand, and the bag in the other and threw her arms around Percival again, knocking him slightly in the back of the head, her face nestled in his neck.

And Percival Graves could not remember a more perfect evening.

* * *

 


	5. All Seven Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jael uses her journal, after Percival finally messes up.

Jael was in tears, on his lap. As she sobbed, Percival felt a stab of panic, because he had  _ obviously just done everything wrong. _

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Percival had no idea what exactly he didn’t mean, but whatever it was that had so upset her, he absolutely had not meant it.

“Why- why- why- why don’t- y-y-y-you w-w-w-want me t-t-to be a  **_swamp cat_ ** ?!” she sobbed brokenly, which was now the soundtrack of his own broken heart, and proof positive that it was possible to be a  _ worse  _ father than his own.

“No, no, no, no,” he assured her quickly, rocking her slightly as he sat in his entirely non-rocking chair. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Sweetheart, you can be whatever you want to be. I want you to be whatever you want you to be.”

**_“I wanna be a swamp cat like you, Papa!”_ ** she wailed and Percival’s heart clenched at the dual strike of her emotional agony and her calling him  _ Papa.  _ It was such a loving name for a father. His own father had never, in fact, been anything like a  _ Papa.  _

“I’m just confused, Jael, that’s all. And I made a mistake. You know, I never wanted to be a Wampus Cat, and until you came around, I never liked being a Wampus Cat. And those other animals, well, it’s a very impressive list, sweetheart. I would rather be some of those other things, than a Wampus Cat,” he said, still rocking his daughter, still trying to calm her. He figured it was a step beyond his own upbringing, as his father had never attempted any such thing. He had only ever been punished, the few times he did cry.

_ “But swamp cats are wonderful! They’re the most wonderful animal in the whole world and everyone should want to be a swamp cat!”  _ she sniffled and sobbed, but her volume was lower, and Percival took that as a good sign.

“Jael, sweetheart, I love that you love Wampus Cats. It makes me smile. It makes my heart glad to know that you still feel safe and loved, even when I am in that animagus form. Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. If a Wampus Cat chooses you, then you should be one. And if you can convince one to choose you, all the better. You will have done what no one else has done before. And if you can’t convince it, and one of those other animals comes to you, sweetheart, you pick whichever one seems the best to you, because they’re all wonderful. I don’t understand the whale at all, but I’m sure it’s also wonderful.”

“But I want a swamp cat,” Jael muttered mutinously, sniffing, but no longer weeping.

Percival brought out his handkerchief and cleaned her face up, and then handed it to her. “Go ahead and blow your nose, sweetheart. That’s right. You’re okay. Papa’s got you, and everything is going to be alright.”

She did as told and collapsed her head back against his chest.

“Shall I tell you a story?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Shall I tell you the story of how I became a Wampus Cat?” he asked, catching himself at the last moment, nearly adopting her interesting pronunciation.

She nodded, and sniffed.

“Well, I was a bright young lad at Ilvermorny, the school for magical children. Older than you are now, but still I had much to learn about magic, and life. My best friend and I decided we would both become animagi, and so over the summer break, we did all that was necessary. I knew - or thought I knew - that I couldn’t choose my animal, but I really hoped it would be something small, something common and easy to overlook. Like a rat. Or a crow.”

Here he paused for Jael to express her very audible horror.

“Yes, well, my priorities were different. I knew I wanted to be an auror, and I imagined that if I could turn into a rat whenever I liked, that would help me catch bad guys,” he said, not at all needing to simplify his rather simplistic thinking of the time. “I could sneak up on them and they might never know. Can you imagine, then, when I didn’t turn into an eight inch, black rat that could hide in the shadows, but instead turned into a bright yellow eight foot catamount?

“Also, Wampus Cats are outlawed in MACUSA. And I did want to be an officer of the law, not an outlaw. This was very important to me. 

“Also important was the fact that if I did transform into one, I could be shot on sight.”

Jael’s mounting horror was of a different sort than before. Finally she gave it voice. “What do you mean swamp cats are outlawed? You mean they’re _not_ _allowed_? You mean people think swamp cats are **_bad_**?” Her shock was obvious at the blatant injustice of the world. _“How can some people_ ** _not_** _like swamp cats? They’re_ ** _wonderful!_** _”_

Percival didn’t really have words, so he just rocked her and held her through her tirade. Before all of this, he would have agreed wholeheartedly with the rest of MACUSA in believing that creatures of fantasy and magic were best left in the annals of history, and in fairy tales. It made him a hypocrite, but there was nothing he could do about it - he hadn’t chosen a Wampus Cat animagus form, and if he could have, he wouldn’t have. 

Now he wasn’t entirely certain.

A Thunderbird, after all, did save MACUSA’s collective secrecy nine months ago, and made his life much easier than it might have been. And that was a Thunderbird who had been held captive, abused, and had no particular reason to do anything kind for any sort of humans - except, perhaps, for the human who rescued him.

Admittedly Phoenixes could never be outlawed. They were just too obviously wholesome.

But for the rest of them? The world was a better place without dragons of any sort, particularly because they were often used in wartime as weapons of mass destruction. 

Some believed that Quetzalcoatls were responsible for the destructive force of hurricanes, cyclones, tornadoes, and typhoons, and if that was the case, the world would certainly be better without them, too. 

Kraken, which obviously  _ did  _ exist despite arguments to the contrary, were the single greatest menace to maritime mercantilism that ever existed. Pirates and privateers couldn’t do a fraction of the damage that apparently a moody Kraken could, now that Percival considered the stories.

Whales seemed, admittedly, harmless. For now. But who knows when that would change?

There was a reason Percival’s animagus status was classified, and it wasn’t just that he didn’t want people to know there was, at this point, a Wampus Cat living within him. It was because if people knew, he might not be trusted. He might not be trusted to be an auror, and certainly wouldn’t be trusted to be the Director of Magical Security.

Then his daughter was looking at him angrily. He stopped rocking without conscious thought.

“You need to fix this.”

Graves blinked.

And he blinked again.

“I…”

“You need to  **_fix_ ** this.”

“You mean legalize Wampus Cats?”

“And make people love them!”

Percival sighed.

“People love what they love. I can’t change that. And there are many other laws that we need to fix, first.”

“Like what?” Jael asked, obviously dubious that anything else could possibly rival in importance her main concern.

“Well, there’s the law that says we should kill obscurials on sight, instead of try to heal them.”

Jael’s eyes were blown wide.

“And there’s the law that says magical folk can’t be friends with non-magical folk, and they’re not allowed to marry them, either.”

Jael’s jaw dropped. “But what about Mr. Jacob?”

Percival’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?” He wasn’t just playing coy. No one had mentioned anything about Jacob’s status and no one would. It wasn’t just about keeping secrets. It was about keeping a well-trained mind. The idea couldn’t even be  _ thought,  _ much less talked about.

But Percival dared not lie to Jael about it. It would cloud her senses and confuse her, not to mention begin to damage their own relationship.

On one side of the equation was plausible deniability and the ability to testify honestly.

On the other side of the equation was his daughter’s mental well-being.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

“He’s  _ obviously _ not a wizard, Percival,” Jael pointed out, sounding twenty-nine instead of just nine.

“No, he’s not. But it’s not something we talk much about. Your Aunt Queenie is determined to change that law, and she’s in love with Mr. Jacob. But until she does change the law, we don’t want anyone else to know. Especially President Sera,” he pointed out, hoping this was getting through to his very emotional child.

“She  _ should _ change the law! It’s stupid!” Jael said, tears and cats momentarily forgotten.

“Once upon a time, we thought it made sense. Witches and wizards needed to protect themselves from non-magical folk knowing about them. There was a dark time when everyone else thought it was just evil to be a witch or wizard. And they wanted to kill us all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jael interrupted, not something she normally did, but it was a heated conversation, and he couldn’t blame her. “I bet they thought we were consorting with the devil, but you know that’s not true! We don’t do stuff like that! And nobody’s trying to kill us now! Jacob couldn’t hurt fly! And he makes really great doughnuts!”

It was true. He did.

“So now you see that there are a few things we need to do before we can open up a Wampus Cat Sanctuary in the Adirondacks, right?”

Jael sighed in disgust. “Harumph. MACUSA needs to screw it’s head on straight.”

Percival snorted in unexpected laughter. “Yes, they do. But please don’t say that to President Sera’s face, alright? She actually already knows, and she’s working hard to make good changes.”

“Okay,” she said, grumpily.

“Promise?” Percival asked, dipping his head to look into her eyes.

“Promise,” she whispered, looking him in the eye.

* * *

Percival was met near the back door after a leisurely stroll through the back gardens. It was fifteen minutes after noon, and he was just coming back from the office. Jael met him at the fountain. She was sitting on a stone bench, staring into the water, but looked up when he approached.

“I’m done, Percival.”

“What are you done with, sweeting?” he asked, taking off his overcoat and his suit jacket and laying them over a nearby bench before coming over and joining Jael on hers. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head before beginning to roll up the cuffs of his crisp white oxford.

“I’m done with those meditations we talked about. With the other animals? And I think I’m ready to make the potion with Aunt Tina.”

Percival’s eyes widened. “I see.”

There was silence as they both stared at the fountain for a while.

“You don’t seem terribly happy about it, sweeting,” Percival noted nonchalantly.

“I’m kind of confused, actually. I did what you said. I wrote everything down I could remember. And that part was easier than I thought it would be. But, I’ve been doing it all week. And I’ve reread what I wrote. You know, the conversation I had with each spirit animal. And they all talk like adults. And I kinda don’t understand everything they say. I didn’t really understand the Quetzalcoatl at all, to be honest. And the Phoenix seemed to think I was a bird. I didn’t tell him I wasn’t. Was that bad?”

“No, sweetheart. Is there anything specific you want to share with me about it? Maybe I could help you understand what they said,” Percival offered, putting his arm around Jael. 

She settled into his side and sighed. She pulled her journal out of her little purse with the undetectable expansion spell on the lining and handed it over.

Percival handed it back. “Open it up and show me what you want me to read. Your journal is private, and I’ll only read what you allow me to.”

Jael took back the leather-bound book and opened it up to the first page. She had drawn a little figure of a Thunderbird, with all of its many wings, and she had titled it  _ The Thunderbird.  _ He continued to read the dialogue she had recorded.

* * *

> The Thunderbird.
> 
> _Mr. Thunderbird, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “Little hatchling, we are the same. We must both fly free, and we must both make the storms we need for our world to thrive. You were slowly dying in captivity. I know this pain. Many of my kind have been caught as hatchlings, and their lives had been naught but pain until their deaths. I feel every moment of it, and I have tasted the flavor of your old pain. It is the same.”
> 
> _It wasn’t so bad._
> 
> “Yes. That is the belief that keeps you from madness. But look into the past with your new eyes. Could you bear to go back for even just a moment?”
> 
> _No!_
> 
> “Indeed. You need express nothing more to me, little hatchling. I know all too well your pain, and I am thankful that you have been rescued from captivity. You are a credit to your nest. May the sun always shine brightly above your clouds, and the rain fill your rivers, and may you fly free with the wind against your wings all the days of your life.”
> 
> _Thank you, Mr. Thunderbird._

* * *

He paused and closed the book, a single finger holding his place. He looked over to his daughter, who was staring at the water playing in the fountain.

“What do you think of what the Thunderbird said?” he asked.

She was quiet and simply swung her feet for a moment. She shifted and snuggled in closer to him. Finally she spoke. “I don’t think the spirit of the Thunderbirds would have liked Ma Barebone very much.”

Percival had no idea what to say. The Thunderbird had as much as said that his daughter’s adoption by Mary Lou Barebone was akin to being caged and abused. Which he had guessed, though not in so many words.

“Is there anything you want to talk about? About your old life as Modesty Barebone?”

Jael pulled a face, with her tongue sticking out. “Blech. I’m glad I’m not still there, is all.” After a moment of silence, she added quietly. “And I’m glad Credence killed her. I know murder is a sin, but I’m still glad. You think we’re going to go to hell for that?” she whispered, not looking at him. It was not the first time she had asked. 

Percival pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Murder is a sin,” he agreed. “But what your brother did wasn’t murder. It was self-defence. He acted in defence of you, and of his own self. And that’s different.” Percival, naturally, said nothing about the no-maj politician.

“What do you think the spirit of the Thunderbirds was trying to tell me?”

Percival took a deep breath. “Well, I think that maybe he was trying to tell you that he understood. I’ve never been through that. I don’t understand what it’s like.” 

Which was entirely true. He’d been held captive as an adult. It was entirely different than being held captive and abused as a child  _ by someone who was supposed to love and protect you. _

“But he does,” Percival continued. “And it’s clear that he likes you, and thinks you’re a good person.”

“Oh. Okay.”

More silence.

“Should I keep reading?”

Jael nodded.

* * *

> The Phoenix.
> 
> _Mr. Phoenix, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “You are my kind. You understand. You understand. Which do they choose to love more? Their own safety, always their own safety, while others writhe in torment. We go. We go inside the middle of the pain. We heal. We will always heal. You are my kind. We will always go inside the middle of the pain. We will always heal. And around us, time is folded. Pain falls away. Lessons are learnt. You are young, and the darkness was within you, but now you are naught but light. We are light, pure burning fire, and now there is no place for darkness to hide, not when the light has come. You are my kind. I will come to you when you are inside the middle of the pain, and together we will heal. Take this as a token. You are my kind, and together we will heal.”
> 
> And then I had a big red feather on my lap.

* * *

Percival stared at the page. He had gooseflesh, and the hair at the back of his neck was standing straight up.

“Do you still have the feather?” he asked, his voice coming out as an stunned whisper.

Jael proceeded to pull a feather out of her little purse. It was four foot long, red, orange, and yellow, and seemed to be on fire, without actually being on fire.

“These are  _ very _ rare, and  _ very  _ valuable.”

“It is pretty,” Jael owned. “Kinda sparkly. It looks like it’s on fire, doesn’t it?”

Percival simply nodded.

“What do I do with it?”

“I think,” he said, without knowing in the slightest what he should recommend, “we should probably have it made into the core of your wand,” he found himself saying. 

And though he said nothing, Graves couldn’t help but think about the implications of the Phoenix’s promise.

* * *

> The Quetzalcoatl.
> 
> _Mr. Quetzalcoatl, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “Little coatl, you are as I am. You seek knowledge and understanding, so that you may gain mastery of the forces of this whirling world. The swirling winds make my home, and I know why that is. Do you know yet what makes your home? Do you know why that is?”
> 
> _No, but I want to know. I want to know everything about magic. And the world. And everything._
> 
> “This is why I come to you. We have the same heart, little coatl. And our one heart is the drumbeat of this whirling world. Thus it has been, and so it will always be. When you discover the why of your winds, then you will truly be at home within them.”
> 
> _Um. Thank you, Mr. Quetzalcoatl._
> 
> “You are ever-so-welcome, little coatl. Return when you know your whys and I will strengthen your winds.”
> 
> _...Alright._

* * *

Percival read it twice.

“The Quetzalcoatl confuses me,” Jael said.

“Yes,” Percival said slowly, drawing the word out. “He confuses me, too. It seems clear that he feels a kinship for you, which is… great. And he seems open to giving you help in the future, which is… great.

“I… You may consider, once we go through these, also discussing this with Mr. Scamander.”

“Okay. Am I really going to get a wand, soon?” Jael asked, blessedly changing the subject to one that was at least easier to understand.

“I… Yes. Soon,” he said, thinking about Ilvermorny’s standard procedure concerning wands. One did not bring one’s  _ own  _ wand to Ilvermorny. One received one’s wand  _ at  _ Ilvermorny. And left it there during the term breaks.

Well, to hell with it. Jael was about to be in possession of an heirloom wand. The Headmaster didn’t need to know it was a brand new heirloom and hadn’t yet been passed down to anyone. Percival was sure it would be. Eventually.

* * *

> The Kraken.
> 
> _Mr. Kraken, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “I do not often come to your kind. I most often despise your kind. But in you I see a strength of heart, little witchling. You will not willingly hurt the vulnerable, and you would atone, should you hurt one without intention. This has long been my task, though I have failed to protect the vulnerable. Now I atone, as I can. I see that you, too, will atone for harms done in your name. I would bless you, little one, if you would seek my blessing.”
> 
> _But what does that mean?_
> 
> “Atonement repairs damage done, in part, or in full. Things become at one once more, the way they were always meant to be. Duality is not real.”
> 
> _How would you bless me? I thought only God can bless._
> 
> “That which you call God lives and breathes in me, as in you, little witchling. My blessing does naught but feed the purity within you that yearns to be at peace and oneness with all things. Do you wish this?”
> 
> _Yes! How could I not wish that?_
> 
> “Then blessed you are, and blessed you shall be, little witchling. Travel as friend over the waters, and along the shore. May you ever find yourself between two worlds, a causeway and help to all who come within your reach.”
> 
> _Thank you, Mr. Kraken. Thank you very much. I will do my best._
> 
> “Of this I do not doubt. We will meet again, little witchling. Go in peace, and be a blessing among your kind.”

* * *

_ Duality is not real?  _ Percival thought in wonder. It sure as hell was, as far as he could tell.

And apparently the Kraken had blessed his daughter.

This entire thing was a great deal stranger and deeper than he imagined it might become.

“What do you make of what the Kraken said?”

“Oh, this one is easy,” Jael said, relief lacing her voice. “He’s talking about Ma Barebone, you know? And all the bad things she said and did. And my name was Barebone, once. And so I gotta atone for all that bad stuff. But that’s okay. I was gonna do that anyway.”

Percival blinked and looked down as his daughter owlishly. “You were?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she confirmed confidently. “I been talking about it a lot with Mistress Spare, my counselor. She thinks its a good idea. And Chaplain Small, she thinks its a good idea to pray for wizarding folk and regular folk to get along in peace, since Ma Barebone was so busy spreading hate. I don’t tell her about Mr. Jacob, of course. But I think about him a lot. So I’ve decided to pray for Aunt Queenie and Mr. Jacob to be married, and for it to be okay. But I can’t tell that to Chaplain Small, or Mistress Spare, because they talk nice about regular folk, but I get the idea that they still don’t like them very much, and they don’t actually know any regular folk. But I’ve known plenty of regular folk. And most of them are pretty nice. You think it’s okay to pray for Aunt Queenie and Mr. Jacob?”

Percival smiled at his amazing daughter. This was how she was at nine. What would she be like at nineteen? 

He nodded. “I think that’s perfect. And I think your Aunt and Mr. Jacob would be honored to know you love them so much.”

Then he considered some of the Kraken’s other words. “What do you make of this blessing business?”

“Oh, that makes perfect sense! I can’t wait to start blessing everything! Cause if the piece of God that’s inside me can help make the piece of God that’s inside you grow a little bit more, wouldn’t it be terrible if I didn’t try? It’s like with Credence’s healing, you know? It’s little by little, but he’s getting better every single day. I think most people could be like that, you know, if they wanted to. But maybe they don’t know. I don’t know if it’s my job to tell them, but I can bless them all the same. May I start with you, Percival? Please?”

“I would be honored,” he said, and the words came out as a whisper, though he hadn’t intended it.

“The Kraken put one of his tentacles on my head when he did this. But I wasn’t scared. Much. I don’t have any tentacles, but I reckon my hand would work just as well.”

She settled her little hand on Percival’s forehead.

“Blessed you are, and blessed you will be, Percival Graves.” Then she stopped, and took her hand away. “I don’t have any fancy words like the spirit of the Krakens did, but I’ll think about that.”

He hugged her close again, and kissed the top of her head. “You are my blessing, Jael Graves. Never forget that.”

* * *

> The Humpbacked Whale.
> 
> _Mr. Whale, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “Because you care.”
> 
> _That’s it?_
> 
> “Does there need to be anything else?”
> 
> _Maybe not. I’m just trying to understand why._
> 
> “Many are compassionate. Not many are nearly done. So that is why I come to you. Why do you come to me, when I know now you seek another?”
> 
> _Because Percival told me I should. So I can understand myself better. So I can know what’s inside my noggin._
> 
> “That is admirable. And do you know yourself better now?”
> 
> _Not really. Not yet._
> 
> “Understanding is not paramount. Caring is paramount. Care, and it will be enough.”
> 
> _Alright. But what did you mean about me being nearly done. Mr. Whale?_
> 
> But then he was gone.

* * *

_ Not many are nearly done?  _ Percival looked at that in his daughter’s careful handwriting.

“What do you make of the Whale?” Percival asked, not realizing that whales were remotely important, except perhaps to some native fishing villages on the west coast.

“Do you think caring is more important than understanding, Percival?”

Yet again, his daughter asked him a question that left him floundering.

“Perhaps. I’ve never thought about it deeply. What do you think?”

“I think that maybe they could be just as important as one another. I mean, if a person had all the understanding in the whole world, but they weren’t caring, well, wouldn’t they just be like that bad wizard?”

She meant Grindelwald, of course, whom she always simply called, ‘that bad wizard.’

Percival nodded, working hard to stay present. He was in the garden, with his daughter on his lap, reading and talking, two of their favorite things to do. He was not still in captivity, dreaming of another life.

“And if a person was maybe the most caring person in the whole world, but they didn’t have understanding, then they might make mistakes, even though they didn’t mean to, and they might end up hurting someone. Like how Mr. Scamander had to teach the healers how to help Credence. They were plenty caring, but they didn’t have understanding about obscurials, right?”

Percival nodded, impressed. Was Jael some sort of prodigy? Did most nine year olds sound like this? Was he providing her with enough challenge?

“But I like the whale. He didn’t go on and on and pretend I was a bird. If I can’t be a swamp cat, I think I could be okay being a whale like him.”

Percival blinked and hid his look of utter shock. He could not imagine a more completely useless animagus form than that of an overly large  _ whale.  _ It trumped even Wampus Cat.

* * *

> The Chinese Fireball Dragon.
> 
> _Mr. Dragon, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “Your passion! When you decide on a course of action, you will not be dissuaded! All of hell could be on your tail and you would still do what you must! So I come to see if you will fly with me! Fly with me and rain down fire!”
> 
> _Oh. Thank you._

* * *

“And what do you make of the dragon?” he asked, so grateful that she found the whale compelling, after all.

“Well, he was very loud. But I’m not sure I’d like to burn people with fire. That doesn’t quite seem… nice.”

“No, definitely not nice,” he agreed.

> * * *
> 
> The Swamp Cat.
> 
> _One Who Sees, why do you come to me?_
> 
> “Your sheer persistence. Waiting for the perfect quarry is an admirable trait in One Who Sees.”
> 
> _Why do you call yourself One Who Sees?_
> 
> “Because I see, and live in a world that is blind to what is obvious. You do not yet see, but it’s possible that you could. I would not have talked to you, otherwise.”
> 
> _Do you know how much I love you?_
> 
> “Yes. It is gratifying, and appropriate.”
> 
> _Why did you come to my father?_
> 
> “Ah. Standing Tall Like Lone Pine is also one who sees. He always has been. He wished to use his ability to help others. This is appropriate. I would not have come to him if he had wished to use it inappropriately.”
> 
> _Will you come to me first, when I meditate to be able to turn into an animal? I would like to be able to become One Who Sees._
> 
> “Yes, Laughing Like The River With Joy, I will.”
> 
> _Thank you, One Who Sees!_

* * *

“I see,” Percival said, without thinking.

“Yup,” Jael responded, and then broke into giggles. When she finally stopped, he asked her what she thought of it. She bounced up and down slightly as she sang, “I’m gonna be a  _ swamp cat!  _ I’m gonna be a  _ swamp cat!”  _

Well, she was finally excited. And he did approve of the names the Cat had given them, even if he had no idea what that Cat really meant by  _ seeing.  _ Percival had become a legilimens and occlumens long after he’d become an animagus.

“It seems like you need to send an owl to your Aunt Tina. Have you written a letter before?”

And then their conversation was all preparation and logistics, and a quiz on the process. Gone for the moment were the strange words of prophecy and blessing and promise heralding a dangerous and adventurous life. Gone, but not too far gone.

* * *

 


	6. The Staircases Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jael finds the perfect gift and nearly everyone goes to London.

Percival took Jael shopping again. The wedding was tomorrow, and she  _ still  _ hadn’t found the perfect present for Queenie and Jacob. Percival had bought them passage on the Queen Elizabeth II, and a two week stay in at the Ritz in London. It coincided with the time that he and Jael had planned on being in London, though their stay would be of a different nature and the four would likely never meet.

“Can I tell you a secret, Percival?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Is it something we can discuss in public, or is it very important?”

“Mmm, no. It’s okay. So, I didn’t want to decide on a present earlier, because I didn’t want Aunt Queenie to know what I was going to give her. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Percival laughed, and surprised himself by doing it.

“Well, that makes perfect sense. Do you know what you want to get them?”

“Would it be too much to get them a really nice suitcase? Not as big as Mr. Scamander’s, but something like that?”

“I think that would be just the thing,” he replied, and navigated them to the best luggage shop in the Quarter.

“As we look for the best thing for your aunt and uncle, you should keep an eye out for what kind of luggage you would like. You’ve got some time to decide, but you’ll be going away to school after you turn eleven, so you should think about what you’ll want most.”

Jael’s eyes were wide as they walked in the shop, a bell tinkling in a soothing musical trill. 

In the end, Jael was drawn to the dragonhide cases. She chose one with the exterior size about that of Scamander’s, and they chose not to have any muggle-warding except the normal fail-safe which could be set in the event the case was impounded or inspected by muggles - but it was a manual setting, not requiring the application of extra magic. The interior size was significantly smaller than Scamander’s, but they were assured it could be expanded to roughly thirty-two times its present interior. Beyond that and the spells would need to be reinforced by an master or mistress of the art.

Once they had chosen the case, it was removed to the back for the fail-safe charm to be applied and they had ten minutes to wander about the shop and look for whatever might one day be Jael’s own personal luggage.

She was drawn to the more informal rucksacks, which did surprise Percival, until she pointed out that she would look awfully funny with a suitcase, or worse, a trunk, tied to her broomstick.

When Percival asked her why that might be necessary, her answer somehow did not surprise him, given the company she kept.

“For when I go off adventuring, of course. Like Mr. Scamander.”

* * *

Jael was nervous about leaving Credence for nearly a month, but Percival had hired an aide who would come in and read to him - from wizarding history books - and make sure he had plenty of interaction with safe magical items and creatures, including Crab Apple. The Obscurus Remediation Units would continue their training without his direct supervision, and the kittens they were working with would also spend time with Mr. Barebone. Combined with the more significant tutoring he was receiving, now that he was feeling better, Percival knew his days would be full enough.

And so although their vacation began the very same day - the day of the wedding - Jacob and Queenie’s crossing would take the better part of four days, or possibly five depending on the weather, while Percival and Jael’s international portkey would take only ninety seconds to use. Percival had bought them tickets on the liner for the return journey, however. He thought the experience might amuse Jael.

Their international portkey took them directly to the British magical customs office, located somewhere in their primary government building in London. It was one of a set he had ordered for the length of their travels throughout Europe and Asia. Next year he had planned to take Jael travelling through the Americas and the Caribbean, and the summer after that, Africa. After her first year at school, Australia and the variety of Pacific islands that seemed largely to be in the middle of nowhere. After that, they could revisit wherever she liked best and spend more indepth time there.

Though Percival had never himself travelled through Europe - as a young lad his summer of rebellion had manifested itself in a trek through Brazil - he had three general reasons for doing so, none of which he’d yet shared with Jael.

First, to broaden her horizons. It was always useful to immerse yourself in other cultures.

Second, to acquaint her with other wizarding schools. While he was partial to Ilvermorny, it was extremely likely that she might meet with prejudice for being an obscurial - to say nothing of her recent animagus status; he knew surrounded by the sort of Wampus Cat Fever that happened during Quidditch matches, it would be difficult for her not to change and expose herself. He’d had the fear of his father’s wrath should he do such a thing, but Percival wasn’t sure if there was a force on earth that could keep her from turning when that many people were declaring their love and eternal allegiance to House Wampus.

Beauxbatons, the Yang Center, Mahoutokoro, or even Hogwarts might suit her better, in the end. Durmstrang had a reputation for punitive and cruel punishments, which his young firebrand might from time to time encounter, so it would be the one in the area they did not tour.

Third, there were some excellent wandmakers in Europe who would be disinclined to ask the sorts of questions he would get back home.

Jael was wide-eyed after their arrival, and Percival was perhaps no less interested in the curious way British wizards carried themselves, dressed themselves, and surrounded themselves with art and architecture - he was just more covert in his observations.

“Wowee,” she breathed out quietly.

“Indeed,” he softly agreed.

They had both read the tourist brochures available, and both had spoken with Scamander - and had a number of things to avoid, and to make sure to see - but nothing quite prepared Graves for being in a place Merlin had walked.

Not that Merlin had actually been in the Customs and Arrivals Office. But generally.

At least Jael wasn’t bored as they waited for the stuffy and officious wizard at customs to process them.

They took a floo directly to London’s wizarding quarter and more precisely to the upscale rooming hall he’d booked a doorway in, called The Jacobite. It boasted a number of excellent concierge services for the travelling wizard, including bespoke side-along, and Gringotts Exchange drop-off, and was known to be quite accommodating. Sera had always stayed at The Jacobite whenever she was in London for more than a day.

The clerk at the front desk was perfectly polite and offered to have some tea sent to the lounge while they waited for a bellhop to construct their doorway, but Percival decided instead to get their primary errand out of the way first. He did arrange for Nips to sort out a late evening dinner, and for the concierge to call on him shortly after nine that night - which was not that far away, the time difference being what it was.

It was dark outside, just past six in the evening when Percival and Jael walked out into the quaintly named Diagon Alley. Some shops were closing, though some would stay open for hours yet, and certainly the bars and restaurants would be doing a steady business on such a fine, clear evening.

Jael was oohing and aahing, and Percival had to promise several times to return in the morning when they had plenty of time to browse. He himself required significant time in all the bookshops that supplied texts to each of the magical schools - he had some comparisons to make on the value of various curricula, as well.

A bell announced their arrival as they walked through the doorway at the shop called Ollivander's. It was dusty. Which was odd. But perhaps the owner had his reasons. He was certainly the wandmaker of the highest renown, even if he wasn’t an adequate housekeeper.

“Good evening! Good evening! Preparing for Hogwarts, are we?”

The smile that graced Graves’ face was just a slight quirk of the lips. “A few years before that, but my daughter was… recently given a gift, from the source. I’d like to see about it being the core of a wand for her.”

The older man’s gaze became sharp, even as it stayed somehow gentle. Graves immediately suspected him of hiding something, and then mentally scolded himself.

He was too used to dealing with criminals and underlings. Sera had been entirely right.

“When we are given such gifts - from the source - it is usually bodes quite well for that core being compatible with that witch. You did right in coming to me, Mr…” he trailed off, waiting for an introduction.

“Percival Graves,” he said, holding his hand out to be shaken and after only a brief hesitation, felt the wandmaker’s calloused hand in his own.

“May I see the item?”

Jael quietly opened her purse and pulled out the four foot long plume. She made to give it to him, but he stepped back and put his hands out in a warding-off gesture.

“No, no! I mustn’t touch it, not yet. Not yet.” 

She pulled it back towards her, and the old man took two steps closer, inspecting it closely.

“Unusual for it to give one of the long plumes from the tail. Mmm… Rare upon rare. Quite beautiful. May be some left after the core is complete. You should consider well what you would do with that, dearie. Could be used for a second, or perhaps third wand. Fine coloring. Recent donation. I keep records of the phoenix donors, you know. Always useful. May I ask which phoenix gave you such a gift?”

Huh.

“It was the Spirit of the Phoenixes,” Jael said, before Graves could stop her.

“I’ll make a note of that, thank you dearie,” Mr. Ollivander replied without missing a beat.

“Now, let me see… Yes, yes. The measurements can wait. Oh, yes, that is a good idea, yes,” the wandmaker muttered to himself in that vein for some long moments, inspecting the feather, and his daughter, in turn. “Just a moment,” he said finally, before disappearing into the back of his shop.

Jael looked up at him, with her eyebrows raised. 

Graves shrugged at her, a half-grin twisting his lips.

Their attention was seized by several thuds and the clatter of small pieces of wood. A moment later, the elderly wandmaker reappeared holding an armful of assorted... twigs.

He let them all fall out of his arms and onto the counter. There were larger pieces of wood in the pile, Graves noticed.

The wandmaker separated out one piece of wood and bade Jael to gently touch her feather to it and nothing else. This she did some two dozen times until finally he came to a white chunk of wood and when the feather brushed against it there filled the room the most beautiful and soothing bird song he’d ever heard. Graves wasn’t sure it could still technically be called simply bird song. It seemed to be something else, entirely, and he wondered that this must be the fabled Call of the Phoenix.

“Aspen,” the wandmaker breathed out. “Very interesting.” He shifted his gaze to Jael whose eyes were wide. “You have an interesting future before you, Miss Graves. Now, before we do the measurements, let us discuss handles.” He turned to Percival. “A traditional turned handle would look exceptionally fine with Aspen’s wood. Or did you wish something more particular? There are examples, here,” he said, clearing away all but the Aspen wood the feather had chosen. “You take a moment to consider,” he said, walking back into the depths of the small shop, hauling his wand wood with him.

Jael tapped the feather against her head as she looked at the different choices.

“Wowee,” she muttered.

“It’ll be white, like ivory,” Percival pointed out, as none of the handles in the display case were from aspen wood. “What kind of handle do you favor, Jael?”

“That one’s awful pretty, don’t you think?” she asked, pointing into the case. She clarified that it was the third from the left end. It was more traditional than he would have thought she’d choose, though it did have a bit of a flair at the end.

“It’s perfect,” Graves confirmed.

The wandmaker returned with a tape measure and Jael stood admirably still while every conceivable thing about her was measured, including the space between her nostrils. 

“Yes, yes. Thirteen inches, I think. No, twelve and fifteen sixteenths. Moderately flexible, but not too much. I can have it for you in three weeks.”

Money exchanged hands, and it was agreed that they would pick up the wand as they finished their tour of Europe and Asia, before they returned to the US.

Business concluded, they repaired to dinner.

* * *

“And then we got to ride on a big ship!”

“So you didn’t tour Durmstrang, then?” Scamander asked.

“No,” Jael answered calmly. “Percival said their behavior modification system isn’t all it should be,” she parroted, and Graves wondered if she understood what she’d said.

Queenie snorted into her fish course.

“So what’dja like most about each school?” Jacob asked.

“Well, they’re all in the mountains. And that’s nice. But Percival said that Ilvermorny isn’t. They’re all a little… odd. Beauxbatons is the prettiest. I think maybe I liked the Yang Center best. They teach the Shaolin Five Animal Forms, in addition to magic, just like Percival does.”

“And what did you think of Hogwarts?” Scamander asked with a smile.

“The staircases move,” Jael pointed out with scathing in her voice.

“They do, indeed,” the Brit answered, grinning nostalgically.

“But they do have a Kraken in the lake, and he talked to me, so that was nice.”

Jacob choked momentarily, but was fine after a hard thump to his back and some water.

“And Mr. Ollivander said there was enough phoenix feather left over for another wand, and maybe more, so Percival said that I could let Credence have it for his wand, if I wanted, and I think I do want to. You know. When he’s ready.”

“I always thought that Asian witches and wizards did things differently. Y’know different spells and such. Not based in Latin, anyway,” Queenie pointed out.

“If Jael wishes to attend the Yang Center, we’ll have tutors for her in the summer. Or, in the off times, should I say.”

“Why not the summer? They do school differently over there?” Jacob asked.

Jael nodded. Her mouth was empty, whereas Percival had just taken a bite, so she answered first. “They start the year just after the Chinese New Year, in the spring sometimes. It’s a lunar calendar, not a Julian like ours. And then they get two weeks off around every solstice and equinox, and then they end just before the New Year.”

“Won’t you be upset not to have the summer off?” Tina asked.

Jael shrugged. “I don’t have the summer off now, except that every day since I was adopted feels like a vacation,” she pointed out gamely before returning to her meal.

_ Can’t miss what you don’t have, _ Percival considered.

“So, you’re going to go to school in China?” Tina asked, her voice laced with exactly what she thought of that idea. It made Percival smirk.

He, too, had a strong preference for Ilvermorny and the American way of doing things. But the Yang Center was arguably the oldest wizarding school in the world, and though they did things a bit differently, it was not, in his opinion, a bad difference. Their focus on the healing arts as well as the martial arts, for instance, was droll in a way he quite enjoyed. Their theory was that if you had a body you could hit as well as heal, and everyone had the natural capacity to do both, therefore everyone would be trained to do both well.

Also, there was less unsupervised time in the day at the Yang Center, which in Percival’s opinion, was an excellent thing at any boarding school. Too much unsupervised time usually allowed the worst in any child free rein, and at a boarding school the effect was multiplied.

Also, there was no draconian views about House Elves, for the simple expedient that they had none. The children aided the monks, who ran the compound and taught many classes, in all that occurred during the day, from the cooking to the cleaning, and they did it in turns magically and in a mundane fashion. 

The monks believed that wizards most of all creatures in the world required humility, and the Yang Center certainly seemed to turn out fewer dark wizards per capita than the other schools. The western schools, for all of their reputation of excellence, could not claim such a thing, and that was perhaps the one abiding reason Percival had a preference for Yang. 

Jael had the potential to be a very powerful witch. And while she had a natural lightness and joy, there were circumstances that could rob her of it, and sour her to the world. Her background had prepared her for such sourness, and though Percival would do all in his power to make sure she continued to choose the light, the time of his influence was short, and he knew it.

That she had a preference for Yang sealed the deal, really. And if it turned out to be a terrible choice, he would transfer her to a different school, and that would be that.


End file.
